Thursday, July 31, 2008

Pregnant and jailed? So what?

I am going to take up shouting at the radio professionally. Either that or I'm going to have to stop listening to Newstalk.
Over healing bacon and eggs I was astounded to hear texters to the Brenda Power show expressing sympathy for Una Black, the eight month pregnant woman who stabbed her neighbour to death in a row over a puppy he was minding. And why the sympathy? Because she's pregnant and her sentence is for nine years, which means the child will be taken off her at eighteen months.
'A child should be with it's mother' one texter said. Aye, it probably should, and it probably would had Una Black not taken a knife from her home, gone to her John Malone's home (twice) and stabbed the poor man. The fact that she is now pregnant doesn't change anything about the manner of his death. Justice Paul Carney is correct when he said her background shouldn't matter, I wish more judges were so direct. Her background, her drinking, her use of anti depressants, her being pregnant, none of it should matter except what she did that night, and what she did was arm herself with a knife and stab a man to death. End of.


A Bad Combination.

Gadzooks,( how'd ya like them apples M?) red wine AND Bailey's mint Irish Cream is clearly a velly velly bad combination. Ouch! No what else is a bad combination? Fatcats and Mamma Mia, but I'm being made suffer THAT one later in the day too. And there is no toast, and it is raining. A stinking pox upon this Thursday. And your little dog too. Oh when will I ever learn? Don't answer that, the twelfth of never, that's when.


Wednesday, July 30, 2008

How Fat is too Fat? How Thin is too Thin?

Apropos a conversation with Etheline this very morning I have a few questions.
At 5 '10 according to most experts and BMI charts ( I know, they're only an estimation) I can carry anything between 140 pounds to a 180 pounds without being considered particularly fat, and that's not taking muscle into account.
I weigh, as of ten minutes ago, ( I had to check) 150 pounds. Personally at 180 I would be extremely unhappy and uncomfortable, I would carry most of that weight on my face and my stomach. I would definitely be, in my head, overweight. No, I would consider myself fat.
At 5' 9' Etheline weighs 135 pounds, I consider her too thin ( slightly), she says she is not, that for her frame she is exactly right. I think she could stand to put on 10 pounds and she would look better. But then again, maybe I'm wrong. Maybe for what we 'do' we're bang on. Etheline is a yoga buff and plays tennis a great deal. I run, kickbox and do weights, I'm also broader and taller than Etheline.
Anyway, the reason I'm asking is because according to Etheline, at least 80% of the women in her office are what she would consider overweight. And by overweight she means carrying anything over 20 pounds for their frame. Because I'm feeling pretty mellow I suggested that we are not autobots and that everyone's body shape is different. Etheline countered with fat is fat, bones and natural shape not withstanding. I said some people can carry off a bit more weight better than others, she said 'bollocks'.
I asked her what the fuck was eating her this morning and it turns out that she overheard one of her colleagues describing her- Etheline- as 'scrawny' and this was what sparked her ire. I said 'oh.'
(I know for a fact she is not 'scrawny' but then read what I said earlier about the extra 10 pounds.)

I think with age you've got to allow a little leeway, everyone 'solidifies' slightly as they get older, I think ten pound over or ten pounds under is not the end of the world. But 10 pounds over or under what? That perplexed me slightly.
So I'll ask it, what you you consider too fat? And on the flip side, too thin?


Tuesday, July 29, 2008

Pig Face? Monkey Face ? Pig Monkey Face?

And this little guy was born to a sow in China. "The animal was one of five piglets recently born to a sow owned by a family in Fengzhang village, Xiping township."

"The piglet’s rare condition is thought to be caused by a form of holoprosencephaly, a brain development disorder that can cause cyclopia, the failure of eyes to properly separate."

His owners think he's pretty ugly and didn't initially want to keep him, but their son liked him and fed him milk, now he's a bit of a tourist attraction. He reminds me of someone, but for the life of me I can't think who it is right now. Not drinking is wrecking my head clearly.


Holy Hotpants Batman!

(Not actual size/shape/rear of yesterday's models)--->

No spoilers! Saw the film, t'was terrific stuff, Ledger was great 90% of the time, wildly over the top 10% of it. Aaron WAS Harvey, Maggie a better Rachel, although I never got the dislike everyone had for Katie Holmes in the role. Christian Bale- who I have a great deal of girl smut affection for- was bufftacularly fine, but the Batman voice makes me laugh and must surely kill his vocal cords after a coupe of takes.
All in all though it was precisely want I wanted from a Summer blockbuster. And I gave more than one whoop of gleeful delight at some of the stunts.
But that's not what I want to write about, what I want to write about is summer fashion, more importantly, hotpants.
The paramour had bought tickets, both of us grinned in relief when the machine spat them out, but the show wasn't until 8:45, and it was only 7:30. SO to kill some time we took a walk around, grabbed some Japanese food and took another stroll outside to partake in some people watching. Now people watching in Ireland in a thoroughly enjoyable pastime, we Irish are a mighty strange bunch, and in large groups I think we are fascinating. yesterday's group had a spectrum as broad as broad could be.
To our right we had a funny group of gelled chicken headed boys taking turns buying cheap can of beer from Tescos, A Bette Middler crossed with Red from Fraggle rock look alike, luminous tights girl, QuickSliver Dad and his gorgeous wife and beautiful children, the three men who arrived flushed and excited, one of which, the paramour noted, was wearing an actual Batman t-shirt. The Howya with her boyfriend spitting, and catcalling.
And oh holy sweet cheeks Batman, hotpants, there was a woman, wandering around wearing hotpants. Pink toweling hotpants, tight pink toweling hotpants and a matching pink toweling boobtube.
I gawked. I tried not to, but I did.
According to the Times over the weekend Hotpants are all the rage for the summer. But I generally read things like that and roll my eyes. "Sure' I always think. 'Whatever.'
But obviously I stand corrected, for not two seconds after the vision in pink pea-cocked past another one trundled past, and this one took the biscuit in blue. Blue hotpants, blue vest, and bright red sun burned legs. And then, another! ( although this one was with tights)
Maybe I'm too old, maybe I'm too square, maybe I'm too something or other, but dear sweet jebus what in marmalade's name possess any Irish women to stick on a pair of hot pants, gaze at herself in the mirror and say, why yes, this is perfect for going out this evening. Especially...and I'm not being an ass here, but especially the larger lady-like miss toweling pink most definitely was. Of course everyone is entitled to wear whatever the hell they like, but really, hotpants? Hotpants?
Sometimes things that work in music videos, fashion pages and on Kate Moss simply don't translate in the real world. It is my view that hotpants, toweling or otherwise are some of those things.


Monday, July 28, 2008

Do you know food?

Do you know food? I thought I did, until I did the following test, and managed to score a pretty bloody terrible 20 out of 40. Guess I don't.

"Not bad at all. Your knowledge could be deeper, but you certainly know enough to have a pretentious conversation about 'sourcing' at a dinner party - and who could reasonably ask for more?"

Bah! I could. If you have a few minutes spare take it and see what you get.


Saturday, July 26, 2008

Motivation For Fatcats and Possibly Fatcat Chumlies.

New week, better than the last week,

Monday- Crossfit, 2k row to time. Came in at 8 mins 54 seconds.

Chest incline, 20x 3 x 10.

Cable cross, 5k x1 x 10 and 6.5k x2 x 10

Finished off with good stretching sessions.

Tuesday--A fine day!
Squats first set of ten were free squats, but the next 4 were front squats with 10k bar. Yooza.
18k x10 push jerks, the 3 more bloody sets of 10. I'm still not getting the bar up fast enough.
120 off the bench dips. I broke those into 4 sets of 30 between the push jerks.
Ran an easy 6k on slightly feelin' it legs,
Finished off with a damn good stretching session.

Wednesday.- rest day, but I did manage half an hour of yoga.

Thursday- long run- 23 kilometres, Ran along listening to albums, it was glorious and I had one of those runs where I felt I could easily have kept going. Of course I couldn't have, but it felt that way.

Friday- kickboxing. One hour of heart pumping sweating physical mayhem . Did plenty of lunges and squats. My leg were toast from the day before but it was all good. I know I've said it before, but I do so love punching and kicking things.

Today- Going to go swimming in an hour or so, I need to give my legs a bit of a break so I figure swimming will suffice.

Tomorrow I plan on a 10k run, assuming I don't drown today.

Actually I ran 12 k.


Friday, July 25, 2008

Happy Ginger Day

(For Conan, your close-up, love and smoochies FMC XX)

A wise man once said, with great Ginger comes great flexibility!
Behold, Walker, Ginger Ranger, a ginger so fierce so hairy, so beardy, so MANLY, so ginger, that all must tremble in his wake. If Carrot Top be the lovestudmuffin of Ginger town, then Walker Ginger Ranger is the lieutenant of ginger justice.
Avast! AIEEEEEE! he will brook no brunette uppityness, HIYAH! nor blondie belligerence. KAMPOOOOO He, with his ginger beard and snazzy high-waisted pants, knows what is what, who is who and where i where. He needs not cape, not super poser, just stretchy denim and man boots. AAAAAAAAHHHAHHH!
Why if we could entice Walker Ginger Ranger to visit our fair shores crime as we know it would cease immediately. Puppies and kittens would run for election and taxi drivers would drive swiftly and in silence. But alas this is never to be for Ireland is too small a land mass to contain such a robust hue of awesome masculine kilowatt ginger power. We would implode with awe, leaving only the Spanish to fish our water where once our fair isle stood.
No, it is simply not to be.
But cry not gingeroids, I salute you Walker Ginger Ranger, champion of the girdle, roundhouse kicker of slow mo and fist of considerable fury, I salute you and wish you many more Gingerdays to come.


Ashley Dupre lands another innocent big fish.

Behold, the very face of innocence.

Remember that girl Ashley Dupre, the call girl who was at the centre of Governor Eliot Spitzer's remarkable tumble from grace last year. You know, the governor was another of these chaps who are happy to talk about morals and laws and family life and all the other things men in politics like to talk about, while simultaneously paying great sums of money to very young women to have his sexual needs met behind his wife's back.
What are they called again? Oh hypocrites, that's the word.
Well anyway, yesterday the famous sticky web that is Ashley 'Kirsten' Dupre, managed to catch herself another wholly innocent fresh-faced newbie to the world, one 35 year old Thomas "TJ" Earle, described by the Post as 'a construction hunk'.
Millionaire TJ, the ' New Jersey asphalt prince' is married to Alisa, his childhood sweetheart and has two children with her. He lives in a 'McMansion' in New jersey, funnily enough not too far from the Dupre family home.
When caught by photographers with 23-year-old Dupre -after spending a day together, taking romantic meals and shopping, staying at the Gramercy Park Hotel over night ( even better, a hotel he spends his wedding anniversary in yearly) and so on, the 'prince' went 'oh-oh' and scuttled quick smart back to his 'McMansion' to pour oil over the troubled water of his 'perfect' marriage.

Everyone following this so far? So what's an innocent babe to do? Why lay the blame squarely where it belongs. With that hussy Dupre of course.

"After a reporter tried to confront Alisa and TJ at their McMansion about his tryst, the wayward hubby told his wife that Dupre "set him up" - and 36-year-old Alisa believes him, sources said."

"I think [Dupre's] getting off on being a home-wrecker," said an outraged source, who knows the trollop."
"Alisa is a sweetheart," a source sighed when describing why she would believe her husband.

"But just before going to New York with Dupre, a source said TJ told Alisa that he was going on a business trip to Colorado. He asked his wife to go with him, knowing that she'd turn him down, the source added."

" Sources said that Alisa knows Dupre's mom so well that they routinely work out together at the Atlantic Club gym in Manasquan.

"You'd think [Carolyn] would tell her daughter not to mess with TJ," said a source."

See!See! That poor soul TJ, that VILE temptress Ashley! What chance did he have? I mean she's a trollop and a home wrecker, she's a prostitute and a set up artist, my god the man is only 35! And a business man to boot, what could he possibly know about the way of the world? How could he possibly be prepared for the siren call of a gal like Ashley? Maybe it's the mother's fault, she should have TOLD her daughter not to mess with a married man. You know, because it's hardly HIS fault if he breaks his vows, cheats and humiliates his wife, lies, boasts of hotties and getting hotties for free, and puts his family in turmoil in the process of getting his jollies. Good lord no.
Clearly TJ Hooker is the victim here, and don't anyone forget it. Happy Friday to you.


Thursday, July 24, 2008


It exists and it's really going strong. But even knowing that I was hand on my heart shocked to read the following from the Examiner.

'CLAIMS that a young Nigerian footballer had to endure a torrent of racist abuse from spectators at an underage game in Carlow have prompted strong criticism from the state’s racism watchdog.
Teboga Sebala, who moved to Carlow town with his family six years ago, was allegedly subjected to racist comments as he played for the Éire Óg club in an U14 semi-final against O’Hanrahans last Monday night.

A complaint by the father of one of his teammates is set to be investigated by the county’s underage GAA board.

The claims have also prompted an angry response from the National Consultative Committee on Racism and Interculturalism (NCCRI).

Adrian Tomlin and his wife were watching their son, Joe, play in goal for Éire Óg from the stand at Dr Cullen Park and he described how a group of young girls, encouraged by a group of adults nearby, shouted obscene and racial abuse at Teboga throughout the game.

“There were obscene racial comments like ‘kill the f***ing n***er’ and the like. It was ongoing throughout the match and Teboga was visibly upset,” said Mr Tomlin.

He said he pulled his wife away when she asked them to stop, because the group turned on her and she was in tears.

“I am beside myself, I am thinking of pulling my son from the sport,” he said, adding: “I come from the north of England where racial tension is a big problem and I bring up my children to be against this kind of behaviour.”

Teboga’s team manager Willie Quinlan said the player and his family did not want to talk about the matter, but revealed he had heard a lot of it on Monday night.

“When I asked him [Teboga] about it, he said ‘it’s just the usual, people are racist against my colour’. He knew where it was coming from but he doesn’t know who was saying it, he just said ‘it happens’.”

The manager should have pulled his team off the pitch if he could hear what was being said. Drive the bloody point home the hard way. You'll get fucking idiot and scumbags in all walks of life, but in this case you don't have to bloody pander to them. Any idiot who can verbally abuse a kid because of the colour of his skin is a filthy racist gobshite and their behaviour should not be condoned or tolerated.


Wednesday, July 23, 2008

Fake tan.

A school head mistress in England is trying to ban pupils who attend her school from wearing fake tan.
If you had children of school going age would you support this ban or not?

Personally I think- although I find bright orange fake tan ridiculous- it's a typical teenage attempt to be 'individual' while being exactly the same as everyone in your year. I have seen some SPECTACULARLY bad tan jobs on uniformed girls AND boys in the last year, streaky orange legs, dark funny looking knuckles, brown necks but with ghostly white faces. Yes it looks stupid, but they're kids,a nd it's not exactly harming anyone.
ON the other hand I see some parents are all for it, putting fake tan in the same bracket as piercings and over the top hair dyes (which I also don't really disapprove of, it's only hair).
What do you reckon, overkill or quite right?

Disclaimer, Etheline and I once tangoed ourselves to ridiculous effect. It took days to wash off and that experiment was never repeated, I now have a perfectly good farmer's tan from running outdoors. Naked, I look not unlike a skewbald horse.


Drug Smuggling...

Ur doin' it wrung!

'IT was the simplest of mistakes. Two powerful Yamaha outboard marine engines were accidentally filled with diesel instead of petrol, in dark, stormy seas off west Cork.

But the error had the most catastrophic of consequences for an international drug gang who stood to make a staggering €400m profit on a €40m cocaine purchase from a Central American drug cartel.

In a matter of seconds, a vast drug smuggling operation that had been months in painstaking planning, between seven countries and over three continents, was thrown into utter chaos.

To this day, no-one knows which member of the cocaine smuggling gang accidentally poured diesel into the motors of the boat specifically tasked with bringing 1.5 ton of cocaine ashore from a "mother ship"off the west Cork coast."

Oh Joe, Martin and Perry, petrol/diesel? I bet you wake up screaming those two words every morning.

In other drug news, 6 kilos of Crystal Meth were also seized yesterday in Offaly, thought to belong to a Lithuanian gang. If you've ever seen a Crystal Meth user in action you can now twitch over your morning coffee and hope to marmalade that no one you know or care about ever gets involved with it.

Drugs and the 'war on drugs' it will never be won. If you think of waht they find can you imagine what is slipping through?


Tuesday, July 22, 2008

Car Clamping in Ireland.

I've been clamped exactly twice and it is a total and utter pain in the ring piece. The first time was a genuine mistake, the second time it was my own fault. As you can imagine I nearly had a blue fit the first time. You don't even want to know what I said to the clamper, it's too early for that kind of talk.
Anyway, I hate being clamped and have seriously considered carrying an enormous set of bolt cutters around in the boot should it happen again. It infuriates me to see a line of cars clamped on a residential road. It's blackmail. Traffic blackmail. Parking blackmail.
Anyway, being a citizen and not a complete lunatic I have desisted from getting bolt cutters and am now just vewy vewy wary about where I park the car, reasoning-quite calmly and logically- that I don't need the spike in blood pressure or a manslaughter rap on my hands.
So it was with puckered lips and flared nostrils I listened to Lunchtime with Eamon Keane yesterday, as Independent councillor Daniel Callanan came on the air and blasted Galway Lord Mayor Cllr Padraig Conneely, who -allegedly -has succeeded in having a number of cars unclamped without a fine.
While there appear to be something of a running feud between the two men- they were both up the for Lord Mayor's job and Callanan was very narrowly beaten- there seems to be truth in what the councillor was alleging. So furious is he about the clamping that Cll Callanan very nearly scuppered the Galway festival by not allowing a license, demanding that action be taken over the clamping issue before he gave his vote.
There are legs to this story.
It was interesting to hear the Lord Mayor himself come on air yesterday and blather his way through Eamon's initial questions, but when asked a direct question in relation to the accusation, he admitted to 'making representations on behalf of' a number of people for a number of issues, of which clearly clamping is one of them. Eamon pressed him, but like all politicians he would not give a straight answer when a crooked one would do.
So in essence, it appears to me, Daniel Callanan is correct when he accuses the Lord Mayor of Galway shenanigans.
This one rule for me others for thee is typical of politicians and their ilk. Regardless of the personal sniping behind the scenes, if Callanan is correct and The Lord Mayor has been abusing his offical office by having clamps removed or friends and business associates alike then I'd like to know. I'd like it on record, so that the next time I am clamped I can ring the Lord Mayor of Dublin and plead my case.
Or perhaps I might invest in a pair of bolt cutter after all. Level the playing field, so to speak.


Monday, July 21, 2008

No Really, Fuck you PETA.

The following is what that nut job Ingrid Newkirk send to the NY times,

To the Editor:

Editorial Observer: What’s Next in the Law? The Unalienable Rights of Chimps (July 14, 2008)

“What’s Next in the Law? The Unalienable Rights of Chimps,” by Adam Cohen (Editorial Observer, July 14), unfairly characterized PETA’s efforts.

Few people know the depth of our work, as it is mostly our stunts that make the news. While cruelty to animals is a serious matter that should elicit widespread public outrage, efforts to reach the public through more serious means often fall on deaf ears in a world in which sex sells and there are both a war and an economic downturn.

By comparing the common mind-set that has produced both the past injustices against humans and the current abuses of animals, we can and do inspire debate and convince many people that it is a human obligation to speak out against injustice to all beings.

Animal suffering and human suffering are undeniably interconnected. In 2004, for example, The New York Times broke the story about a PETA undercover investigation that found routine animal abuse at AgriProcessors kosher slaughterhouse. Since then, the paper has repeatedly reported on the abuse of migrant workers at AgriProcessors. It should come as no surprise that a facility that profits from tormenting and killing animals would also oppress and abuse humans.

Those of us who have worked in the field as social service staff members or humane law enforcement officers know that child abuse and animal abuse as well as battered women and battered companion animals are often found under the same roof.

Forgive us our bikinis and our shock tactics, but our message that all beings — both human and nonhuman — deserve compassion and respect is one that we must work hard to make heard.

Ingrid E. Newkirk

President, People for the Ethical

Treatment of Animals

Norfolk, Va., July 15, 2008

More Articles in Opinion »

Yep nothing says respect more than topless women in cages, EVERYONE knows that. Or telling people that feeding their children meat is child abuse. So RESPECTFUL. Or killing perfectly healthy viable animals rather than allow them to become pets, yep Ingrid, you sure got their best interests at heart there.


Nosy, Annoying and Just Plain Rude.

I had an interesting- at least to me- encounter with a man on Friday evening. And it has annoyed the shit out of me ever since
I was at a bus top, clutching a bottle of wine, minding my very own business when this man, who I had to pass as I arrived, turned and said.
'Which bus are you waiting for?'
'Oh, the 15,' says I.
'There should be one along any minute.' Says he, taking enough steps closer to invade my personal space. 'I think the heavens are going to open. But sure maybe you'll bring a bit of luck.'
I did that polite smile people do.
He blew a lot of cigarette smoke over me. 'I'm going to a barbeque in Donnybrook, in the rugby club. We could do without the rain.'
He then smiled at me-yellow teeth, waiting for me to say something.
Now I'm a country girl, born and raised in an era and area where it's rude not to speak when spoken to. But to be honest I didn't want to be stuck in conversation with this man. He had disgusting yellow teeth and he was smoking and worse he was FORCING me into a conversation I neither invited or wanted.
Naturally politeness won out.
'Hopefully it will hold off.' I said.
Then I made it my business to look away. I watched traffic.
'You out for the night?'
I glanced back.
'I'm going for dinner.'
'Oh whereabouts?'
I did pause at this. None of your business was the correct response, but again I capitulated.
'Sutton!? Jesus that's a long way out, how are you going to get back from there?'
This time I frowned at him. This time I wasn't going to answer.
'Will you get a taxi?'
'I suspect so.'
'Meeting the boyfriend?'
'Just friends.'
'Do you have a boyfriend?'
I looked at him. Fifties, balding, leering. That right, leeering.
'What does he do?'
I pretended I didn't hear him and squinted in a really stupidly over-actingly way at a passing car, as though I thought I knew the person.
'What does he do?' He repeated.
'He's a Guard.' I said.
And then I was saved from making up any more lies or from letting my brow drop further by the appearance of our bus. Despite his best attempts I insisted he get on the bus first-namely so I could see where he was sitting so that I could make sure I didn't sit near him.
I sat down the back a few seats behind him and seethed all the way to Rathmines-where he got off.
What was I seething about?
I don't bloody know, but I do know. Why did I lie and say 'guard'? Why had I answered his questions? I don't like being forced into conversation, why, when it was a clear as the nose on my face that I didn't want to engage in any conversation, did that annoying man persist? Why didn't I say 'Excuse me, I don't believe where I'm going is really any of your business"? Nor how I was going to get back from where I was going.
Where is the line between being polite and allowing yourself to be interrogated?
Making a mountain out of a molehill? Or is it?
'IPod.' the paramour said when I told him. 'Don't ever go on a bus without one.'
Fine, but I shouldn't have to insulate myself with technology to enjoy peace and quiet though.
Demanding information /conversation, I am against it.


Saturday, July 19, 2008

Motivation for fatcats and possibly fatcat chumlies.

Don't ask me how I feel right now. Arp. That is all I am going to say. Just arp... and also 'ack' Medbh will understand that.
Sunday 20k- sunny, met a boxer called Carlin who carries a ball with him at all times, not for his owner to throw but just to have. Daft, lovely dogs.

Squats! Ass to the floor squats,

Monday- nope, not really practiced more free squats,

Tuesday- Gym, ran 4 sets of 400m, under 2 mins each one. 400 metres slower pace interspersed between.

Weights, 30 pull ups grav at 20k, don't know why but my arms felt slightly tired,
Cable cross, 6.5k 10 x x3.
Thrusters, 25k 10x 3

reclined over heads lift using 10k wheel. did 30 of those. Only way I can do those without hurting my lower back is by tensing every muscle I have, so it's very very good for a core work out I find.

Finished with a decent 15 minute stretching session.

Wednesday- 12k, terrible, slow, laborious, just wasn't feeling it. My shoulders felt tight and my left leg ached. Bah.

thursday- pfft.

Friday-double pfft.

Satdee. Ack.

Tomorrow is long run day. May the Lord I don't actually believe in have mercy on my wanton hoochy filled soul.
I ought to be not gadding about and running more, this week shows just how easy it is to slither off the path of good intentions. Next week I'll have to cop myself on a bit. And by cop myself on I mean stop fucking drinking like I'm on a god damned cruise ship.


Friday, July 18, 2008


...truly are the devil's filthy smegma. I can think of no more miserable way to wake up than with a hangover. You know it before your eyes are even open. You know from the dry raspy over sized tongue, the heat, the puffy hands, the fact that it's 7am and you're gabbing away to a bemused paramour, the fact that minutes later you pass back out and almost need a fork lift to get you out of bed some hours later.
Country Gay is my very dear friend, I love him to pieces, but the pair of us left to our own devices, unfettered and unchallenged, is a terrible idea. We are nincompoops, we think EVERYTHING is a good idea. I'm only relieved I didn't wake up this morning with a tattoo of some kind. I SWEAR it was mentioned yesterday. Could you imagine it? I hate tattoos.
Anyway, today's picture is NOT ginger, I realise this will be a terrible shock to many of you, but I feel this chap deserves a Gingerday slot. I mean he's right up there with Scot isn't he? Look at him for Gawd's sake. He's magnificent.
I have to go out to night. I have plans. I have kickboxing later today. Those three sentences make me want to cry.
I wonder at what bloody age common sense kicks in?


Thursday, July 17, 2008

Screwed Again.

Yep, like the 'green tax' on my car and probably your car, like everything else in this country of ours, they say, we pay.

"THOUSANDS of commuters will have to fork out up to €500 a year more just to get to work from September.

Commuters and shoppers will be left counting the cost after CIE confirmed controversial plans for new 'park and ride' charges at dozens of railway stations.

The semi-state company has signed a contract with a private parking control and clamping company to introduce 'pay and display' parking at 37 stations on the greater Dublin commuter network, the Irish Independent can reveal.

Commuters from as far away as Longford and Gorey will be hit with parking charges of €2 a day, where previously they could park for free.

Opposition TDs and transport lobby groups last night branded the new charges as "unacceptable".

Right? Are we following this> The government, bless 'em want us to use public transport, better for de environment, right? Better for de green house gasses, get us out of our cars and blah blah chee de rah... But NOW oh yes NOW they're going to charge you to park your bloody car WHILE you use Public transport.

The toll goes up on the M50 next week. We'll complain, but we'll pay. Same as my car tax, I'll whinge and I'll bitch about it here, but I'll pay.

How long before the price goes up do we think?

Our government hates us, but we let them abuse us


Wednesday, July 16, 2008

Self-Defense or Undue Force.

What constitutes undue force?

If someone breaks into your home in the middle of the night and you practically decapitate them with a golf club you keep beside the bed specifically for protection, would that be considered undue force?
If you are out running/walking/getting the papers and someone grabs or tries to rob you and you almost break their jaw with an elbow, is that undue force?
If you catch someone trying to break into your car and you punch them in the side of the head hard enough to knock them down is that undue force?
If you come home from being out and find an aggressive drunk asleep in your front porch and the only way to get them off your property-and stop threatening your family- Is to almost break a mop handle over him, is THAT undue force?

Clearly I am confused as to what constitutes undue force and what constitutes self-defense. All of the above strike me as perfect acts of self-defense and protection of self and property, but according to a gal I was talking with over the weekend the situations described should end with nothing more than a call to the Gardai. She said anything more could be construed as 'undue force' and might very well end up with the self-defender being dragged into court!
(And since she's a barrister I'm inclined to believe her.)
But I can't get the conversation out of my head. I can't believe the law could be that skewed.
So how about it? Undue force or reasonably reaction?


Tuesday, July 15, 2008

Funeral Rules.

I was interested to read in the Indo this morning that Catholic Church is putting it's foot down with regard to funerals.


"A NEW row has erupted over Catholic Church rules for funerals.

It flared up after jazz musician Paddy Cole revealed yesterday that he was not allowed to play at his mother's funeral Mass.

The flames had earlier been fanned when priests in Castleblayney, Co Monaghan circulated a leaflet at the weekend setting out the rules for funeral Mass from the Bishop of Clogher, Joseph Duffy.

The leaflet states that specially composed poems and favourite songs are in breach of the diocesan regulations.

And even the traditional practice of mourners lining up to shake hands with bereaved families in church is banned during Requeim Mass, although it is still permitted during the removal ceremony.

Mr Cole's comments sparked a rash of calls to a radio show from bereaved families who had been banned from playing "goodbye songs" or giving funeral eulogies.

The jazz star, who comes from the area, said he had played at funerals of friends in Dublin and other parts of the country but had been banned from performing a musical tribute at his mother's funeral.

Listeners then called RTE's 'Liveline' to vent their anger that they were not allowed to recite their memories of loved ones from the altar."

I've been to a few funerals over the last few years and I find them hellish affairs at the best of times, but overly wrought funerals all the more so. I understand the church's stance on this, left unchecked funerals can go on for hours, long rambling eulogies, long weepy songs like 'My heart will go on', it's unreal.
I understand the desire to say good bye to a loved one, to pay your respect, but there are ways of doing so with turning the funeral into a mawkish affair.
This is why wakes are a terrific idea, people can come and trade stories, cry, sing, drink, gain comfort from one another, remember the person who has passed. Let the church do its job, perform it's rites and solemn duty.
On this one I agree completely with the Catholic Church.*

* Awaits thunder clap and possible bolt of lightening.


Monday, July 14, 2008

Sustainable diet.

Feeling hungry? Worry about the environment? Worry about world hunger? Worry about deforestation? Worry about fitting into that dress? Worry that Lipotrim might just be another bogus starvation diet?
Fear not! Boffins have finally cottoned on to what plenty of tribes and other folk already knew.
Insects! Nutrient rich, pretty fat free, and in abundance.
If in doubt an ant a day keep the doctor at bay. Feeling blue? Have a cricket or two. Weevil Weevil rock you. Sing it!

From today's Economist.

""Scientists at the National Autonomous University of Mexico have an answer: entomophagy, or dining on insects. They claim the practice is common in some 113 countries. Better yet, bugs provide more nutrients than beef or fish, gram for gram.

Meat provides just under one fifth of the energy and one third of the protein humans consume. But its production uses up a hugely disproportionate share of agricultural resources. Feed crops gobble up some 70% of agricultural land, while a quarter of the world’s land is devoted to grazing. Brazil’s burgeoning livestock industry is responsible for huge swathes of deforestation in the Amazon.

As developing countries get richer meat’s ecological footprint is set to get even bigger. The Food and Agriculture Organisation (FAO) at the United Nations considers livestock “one of the top two or three most significant contributors to the most serious environmental problems, at every scale from local to global.” It predicts that the world’s demand for meat will nearly double by 2050.

Eating insects does far less damage. For one thing, the habit could help to protect crops. Some 30 years ago the Thai government, struggling to contain a plague of locusts with pesticides, began encouraging its citizens to collect and eat the insects. Officials even distributed recipes for cooking them. Locusts were not commonly eaten at the time, but they have since become popular. Today some farmers plant corn just to attract them. Stir-frying other menaces could help reduce the use of pesticides."

Mmmmstirfried insect, I'm sure it will catch on, especially here in ireland where so many of our country's tongues bravely go where no tongue has gone before, I mean look at fish fingers. Frankly my mouth is watering at the thought of deep fried cockroach with a side order of locust bread. Whose wouldn't? And at least now I finally have a solution for those pesky bluebottles.


Great ideas, number 1

As Finn can vouch, I have no real head for heights. Well not heights per se, drops. I have no head for drops. I don't like there to be nothing peripherally. It makes my legs go funny and then I worry I will fall down and -inexplicably- roll to one side and plunge to my death.
This is problematic, for into every life a hill must rise. Unless I move to Montana, and I don't want to move to Montana as I don't really like drinking rosé and I read somewhere that is all they drink out there. And if I read it then it must be so.
Also I like hiking and climbing up hills, I want to go down and do Glendalough again, but am a bit stymied as to how to go about this and not worry about drops.

Then on Friday evening, while propping up the bar in my local I had a Eureka moment. At least it SEEMED a good idea to me at the time, (inevitably most of my crackerjack thoughts are accompanied by hooch. The Fatcat brain operates quite well jacked up on alcohol you know)
That's right, blinkers, the same things horses wear. If I can fashion a set of blinkers and attatch them to a hat I won't notice that going up involves bloody great drops. If I can't see them I won't worry about them and that jelly like wobble that hits the back of my knees when ever a 'spectacular vista' appears. I can just focus on ahead, and forget all about the sides, and how easy it would be for me to drop and roll off them and plunge to my death!
Who knows, it might take off, this might be the solution to hundreds if not THOUSANDS of wibbly legged hill walkers. If you can't see it, it doesn't exist. Oh yes.
Huzzah for hooch, if only I had discovered it as a child I might very well have worked out the annoyingly addictive Rubix Cube and become a vet. But alas I wasn't much of a drinker until my late twenties.
Now to go an patent my idea. I can really see this taking off, can't you?


Sunday, July 13, 2008


Proper squats- ass to the floor! I can finally do them!! Thank you Cross fit, thank you Coach Glassman. Oh my GAWD, I'm so freaking pleased.


Saturday, July 12, 2008

motivation for fatcats and possibly fatcat chumlies.

I wish those blasted magpies would stop fighting. I'm sitting here nibbling soy beans like a demented hamster and their bloody racket is frightful.
Don't ask me about the nameless pub, I didn't even make it that far down town. Don't ask me anything, don't make any noise either.
Like Gimmie I believe I will give up beer for a while, I think I could be allergic. Plus if John Mc is right- and I have absolutely no reason to doubt him- my calorie consumption last night was WAY up in the thousands, and that means I've to spend a goodly time in they gym today trying to repair my tattered self.
Oh common sense, why must you always let yourself get shouted down like that? Why have you no spine, no gumption? Why is it you're so easily swayed? Why?

Sunday, ran close to 20k for a long run, it was sunny and glorious and my shins hurt slightly on the home stretch.

Monday- 15 k ramble around Clontarf, St Anne's, Bull island with CG and CG's dog.

Tuesday- nowt, but it stopped raining long enough for me to clip the hedges.

Wednesday- 'Angie,' Cross fit, which means, 100 pull ups, 100 sit ups, 100 press ups, 100 squats. for time, unfortunately I don't know what bloody time I did it in as my watch was back home in my bathroom. But I'm guessing just under the half hour mark. I used the grav for pull ups and push ups were done off my knees. Feet anchored for sit ups, squats as rxd.

Thursday- I got out of bed and screamed when I stretched. Walking down the stairs was like walking the Himalayas, lowering my body into my chair-scream. Getting back up- scream and so on.

Friday 10k

Satdee. today I plan to spend some time in the gym. Compound lifts I should imagine, assuming I don't fall down. Tomorrow I've got another 20k run on the books, so I'll be taking it handy today in terms of cardio.

Right, now what delicious breakfast will I have, porridge and an eggs, OR an egg and porridge? Hummm, choices choices.


Friday, July 11, 2008

Happy Gingerday everyone!

Happy gingerday drods and bods. I am safely returned from another nonsmoochfilled afternoon in town, I am about to embark on a run of at least 10k, and tonight, the paramour informs me, we are going to a bar so freaking hip, so NOW, so what bleedin' evah, it doesn't even have an actual name! How cuttin' edge is that?
Also I am well pleased because it is Gingerday and this means it is the end of another wet Irish Summer week, and although my threshold for boredom be low, I have never in all my years decided to butcher my features. For this I am truly thankful, I own cats, true, but I never tried to pull that look off for myself. All of us should take a moment to be grateful to whatever god of ID who watches over us that never once have any of us looked in the mirror and said, 'gee, today I think I'd like to look like a tadpole or a cheetah or maybe even a aardvark'.
I am also truly pleased that I am not a hateful manipulative overindulged batshit insane hypocrite filled with bile and guile and fetid imaginings, that I can get up in the morning and face myself in the mirror and not think, 'what face will I put on, what cloak of martyrdom will I shroud myself in today, what whinging sniveling dribbling OOZING slug-pussed pond swill will I engage in to seek attention?'
Oh no. let us be grateful we don't dance in those shoes.
So, with this in mind I wish you a happy weekend. And remember, acting like a demented cunt* and being sorry about it after doesn't make you any less of a demented cunt, just a sorry demented cunt.
( apologies to the Major for hijacking his word, but it was appropriate)


Tax Robbery!

Son of a bitch. My annual motor tax renewal form came through the post and it's 60 odd euros more expensive!!! For the same fucking car(!!) that I drive on the same fucking Roads(!!) as I did last fucking year (!!).
What the F?
This must be that green bollocks John Gormley was twittering on about. How exactly does charging people MORE tax save the god damned environment? Who gets the money? This is social blackmail. This is cock rot of the highest order. How does this shit get passed and no one kicks up about it?
My car passed its NCT test, and part of that test was a check for fuel emissions. I had to replace the filter to comply with the government mandated test. So if it was good enough for the fucking NCT test, why less than six months later and I being told I have to pay MORE tax for it's engine size.
You know what? I'm sick to the back teeth of this country for shit like this. They, yes they, decide they're going to do something and BAM, it is so, and we just roll over and let them.
This is claptrap. We already pay through the bloody nose to drive, why are we being penalized further?


Thursday, July 10, 2008

Body Parts.

I love the paramour, I love almost everything about him. His deep rumbly voice, the way he laughs, his green/brown eyes, his arms, his high girlish shriek when I leap out from hiding and yell 'BOWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!' at him. Yep, it's safe to say I am quite smitten with him. Plus he seems willing to put up with me and that says a lot about the man. Don't get me wrong,I'm a nice person, but I am, or rather I can be, what Gamma used to call, 'a handful'.
But as much as I love that man I cannot love his feet.
They are...well they're freakish and splayed and hairy. They look like they should belong to Fred Flintstone.
Actually I don't like feet much in general, and this being summer there are oodles of pale gnarly flip-flopped specimens all over the camp.
Oh don't roll your eyes, surely EVERYONE has some body part that squiks them out slightly. Mine is feet. First of all what is it with people whose second toe is LONGER than their big toe? It's quite bizarre. And then there are people with little toes that seem to have almost turned all the way into the second last toe, a toe merger of sorts, then there are the bunions and hammer toes and yellow toenails...bleaugh. It's too much. I once sat transfixed, horrified, baffled and befuddled by a dreadlocked Trusty on a metro in Barcelona whose toes looked like fingers! It was unnatural, she could have done sign language with them. Ten long tanned digits that wibbled and wiggled with seeming abandon, untethered by the laws of biology. And she had a silver ring on one of them, which I'm willing to bet the toe probably asked for.
Yack. I got off two stops early, lest her toes noticed I was staring and asked me that the hell I was looking at.
(answer, 'I don't know, but it's looking back' complete with schoolyard sneer)
Anyway, my own feet are charming. I can just about stand them. Except that time I lost a toe nail from running, then I had to avoid looking at them at all cost for a number of weeks.
Also, the film My Left Foot gave me the willies for weeks. And Tarrentino's obsession with Uma's great big long boats collied my wobbble too. And don't even get me started about the episode in Sex and the City where Charlotte lets some sales assistant get jiggy with her feet in return for free shoes.
Shit, now that's all I can think of.
Feet, I"m not against them, because they are very necessary, and they're good for holding on fancy shoes, but I'm no great fan.


Wednesday, July 09, 2008

Temptation and the Diet.

I don't have a sweet tooth. I'm lucky in that regard I suppose. I don't really dig chocolate or ice cream or biscuits. I rarely if ever have a dessert after diner, although rhubarb crumble makes me go weak at the knees.
Nope, I'm a savoury sort of gal, I like cheese, crisps, sour or salty things.
After some initial heel dragging I have at last started my training proper for October's Dublin City Marathon. This means- naturally- more running. Now I consider a body not unlike a car in that it needs fuel to run. So to this end I am attempting to clean up my diet a little, you know, making minor adjustments here and there, more fruit, lean meats, cutting back on delicious hooch and treating the toaster like it was a spiritualist.
My current diet consists of eating porridge in the morning. 30gs of oats and some skimmed milk, that's it. It's neither delicious nor not delicious. It is porridge. It is pretty good fuel actually and leaves you fairly full for a goodly number of hours, plus you can run on it.

HOWEVER, I feel I am being sabotaged! By a man no less! By the PARAMOUR. ( I should point out he says he's not doing any such thing, but you know, I'm not sure I believe him)

'Do you want white pudding on toast?' He asked me this morning, opening the fridge door.

This is appalling. Not only is he offering me exactly the sort of breakfast I DO want, he's offering to make it, and Fatcats like having food handed to them.

'No thank you, I'm having porridge.'

I proceed to measure EXACTLY 30g of dried oats into a bowl. I peer at it. It does not look very inspiring. Then I cover it with milk and bung it in the microwave. Behind me the GOOSEFAT or COW LARD or whatever the hell he's using to cook with is beginning to crackle in that filthy frying pan I keep threatening to throw out.
The Paramour- dressed only in his dressing gown that makes him look like a blue grizzly- slices three, THREE, big fat pieces of white pudding off his white pudding ring.

'Got enough pudding there?' I say, ooozing sarcasm on the word enough.

'Yep.' says the man I sleep with, sunnily.

I glare. He hums.
Next he pops two thick WHITE doorstep sized slices of bread into the toaster, the bloody TOASTER.

'Sure you don't want half a slice?'

'No...thank you.'

I press two minutes on the microwave. As I am microwaving my...porridge, he fries up the three big fat slices of delicious pudding, toasts his delicious big fat slices of bread, butters them with big fat butter, spreads the big fat pudding on the big fat toast and covers them in big fat white pepper.

In the meantime I remove my oats from the microwave and add some more skimmed milk, cold this time. Ooooh. And oh yeah, I stirred it.

We take our respective seats at the table. My mouth is watering, and it has fuck all to do with MY breakfast.

Then the man I share a bathroom with cracks his knuckles and fills his coffee cup. He pulls his plate closer to him and lifts a steaming slab of meat filled carb loaded artery clogging peppery goo to his mouth.


That was the drool from the corner of my mouth, bouncing off the rim of my oats bowl.

Just before he takes a bite he looks at me and says, grinning....

'How's your porridge?'

'Fine.' I say, but in my head I wished gout upon him.

Sigh. October seems so very FAR away, doesn't it?.


Tuesday, July 08, 2008

Dangerous Dog List.

Finally! At LAST! A comprehensive list of dangerous dogs. Dogs that go snap in the night/day/late afternoon. The study was published in the journal Applied Animal Behaviour Science and was based on interviews with 6,000 dog owners by researchers at the University of Pennsylvania. This was not the result of scare mongering or ' the look of' a dog or a terror of breed specific animals, this was honest to goodness plain old research and it makes for interesting reading don't you think?

Here is the list of dogs most likely to bite you.

1- Dachshund.

2- Chihauhau

3-Jack Russell- (I am not in the least bit surprised, this is the breed that has threatened me the most while running.)

4- Akita

5-Australian Cattle Dog.

6-Pit Bull


8-English Springer Spaniel

9- Border Collie ( savaged me as a child, I almost lost an ear)

10-German Shepherd.

From the Mail.
"One of the researchers, Dr James Serpell, said the findings suggested smaller breeds were more genetically predisposed towards aggressive behaviour. Previous research into the area has generally been based on dog bite statistics.

But bites from larger dogs are more likely to need medical attention and the researchers said this might have skewed results as most attacks were not being reported."

Exactly, a nip or a bite from a small dog might go completely unreported.
Now let's have a look at the list of 'dangerous dogs in ireland, animals that must be muzzled at all times in public, that must be on a leash at all times and controlled by a person no younger than 16 years old.
American Pit Bull Terrier,
English Bull Terrier,
Staffordshire Bull Terrier,
Ban Dog, ( I'm assuming a pit bull x)
Bull Dog,
Bull Mastiff,
Doberman Pinscher,
German Shepherd (Alsatian),
Rhodesian Ridgeback,
Japanese Akita,
Japanese Tosa

(Funnily enough according to the study pit bulls, rottweilers and Rhodesian ridgebacks all rated average or below average for hostility towards strangers.)

Now I'm not bloody naive, I know a bigger dog can do far more damage-in theory- than a small dog, but this should be read by all those annoying people who rabbit on about dangerous dogs and banning dangerous dogs.
All dogs have the potential to be dangerous. From the smallest to the very largest. There should be no breed specific targeting. As a former Doberman Owner it annoys the shite out of me that they are on the list in this country. Why should a doberman be muzzled and NOT a Jack Russell (not picking specifically on JRs but hypothetically, but why not them or labradors?).
All dogs should be controlled in public, well trained, socialised, exercised daily and well fed. Responsible dog ownership should be enforced, not breed specific scaremongering.
I'm glad to see this study doing the rounds, I wonder how many people will take the blind bit of notice of it next time a 'devil dog' hits the news stand.

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Monday, July 07, 2008

Horny Uppity Bitches cause Downward Shrinking Dog.

At least according to the Indo.
"Predatory women are destroying the sexual confidence of young men in Ireland - with some men as young as 20 now turning to Viagra to prop up their flagging libido."

Oh my! In the jungle the mighty jungle the boy men sleep tonight.
The rest of the article is here.

I read this and immediately visualised a group of chaps all huddled about like meercats, nervously glancing thither and yon. I mean aw shucks fellas, I didn't know it was so hard out there for a man. I mean one minute you're innocently enjoying a pint with your mates, discussing gardening and politics and football next you're all running for cover as vicious predatory damp-fannied Amazonian women come head and mickey hunting. It must be VELLY frightening indeed.
Bitches! Everyone knows men aren't into casual sex. They want to be wined and dined first, I bet when those hussies do throw the leg over they don't even bother staying the night do they? Poor guys. And being expected to have sex on demand is one thing, but being expected to have good sex on demand? I bet you have to fake it. I bet you lie there after wondering what the hell THAT was all about. Damn them! Damn them for seeking their own hateful gratification. I mean it's just not cricket! And how awful that they're forcing you into these situations, overpowering you like that. It's just not right. You know they're comparing notes too, right? Oh yes, sorry to say, they're definitely comparing notes.
I suppose you could just say 'no' and have a dribble of self respect, but then I understand- from the article- that saying no to these fevered hellions is not an option. Hmm, They must REALLY be all powerful. Viking hordes to your innocent riverside peasant.
I feel for you, I really do.
And don't bother glancing at the phone, she's not going to call. And she won't be returning any of the fifteen messages you left neither. See... come closer, you've already slept with her, she's sampled your goodies. I know you'd had a few, I know she wanted it, I know she was full of compliments and hot passion, but now she just thinks you're easy and frankly a bit of a slut. When she does settle down she wants to bag herself a virgin, or as near as, or at least someone who she can safely say hasn't slept with half the women she knows.
Love and smoochies, the non threatening kind.


Saturday, July 05, 2008

Motivation for fatcats and possibly for fatcat chumlies.

What a fine start to Satdee. I have been asleep almost 11 hours straight. Some fine beer from Smurf's larder of delights, a bag of salty and vinegary chips from the local chippooor, scoffed burningly on the way home, and voila, sleepy time. I have a woken with nary a trace of hangover, the paramour has made a pot of coffee, the sun, it shines, plus all my dreams were sexy dreams, you just can't say fairer than that!

Anyhoo my week wasn't so bad either in terms of work and so on.

Monday- Nope.

Tuesday, spent so much time here working and blogging I missed the gym, ran 10k, instead, clippity clop. Feeling it slightly on the shins.

Wednesday- GYM! Warmed up with plenty of stretching, 1000k row, and off to the weights I scampered. Ohhh baby, dead lifts, started of with 40k x 8, up to 50k x 8 and feeling good I racked up to 60k, did 3 sets of 6, using hook grip, keeping back straight, head up. V good! I've got you now 60k! If I could get my squatting under control I'd be much better at lowering the bar, but huzzah anyway.

Bicep curls, 10k sets 3x 10., these were surprisingly easy today, may be time to at least attempt a 12.5 k curl- next week, next week I say.

Pullups, 15k counter weight, using over grip, mostly working the back and shoudlers knocked out 40 of those in sets of 10. But the pads on my hands were a bit banjaxed from the dead lifts.

Finished off with 2k run and a LOT of stretching, do NOT want to be as sore as last week.

Thursday- run, much dithering but I ran in the sodding rain in the end, 12k. Wet, the rain stopped as I was coming back up my drive. Gah! Still feeling it on the shins a bit.

Friday- KIck boxing cancelled, a travesty! Went to gym, did a few 40k pull downs on the lat machine but my heart wasn't in it. I wanted to kick and punch things, and there were no things to be kicked and punched, unless, the paramour might consider a sparring ... no, no things to be kicked and punched. Bah, shower, home, complain, off to Smurf's.
And here we are.
Today I'm not sure, but tomorrow I'm running 17k along the coast. Can't wait, hope the weather is like this, I can work on my farmer's tan more, oh yes. I will be a woman of colour then. Mostly pink, and some vermillion thrown in.


Friday, July 04, 2008

What fucking colour is that?

Twenty has a funny post up about some claptrap of other and something occurred to me when I was reading the comments.
What the fuck are people 'of colour'? Like 'A woman of colour came in and sat down.' OR 'women of colour are WHOLEY under-represented in the blogosphere".
What the F?
What does that mean, and shut up, that's a rhetorical question because I bloody well do KNOW what it means, I just object to the expression.
I too am a fucking colour. I am pasty white with overly tan arms and tan head. I am Skewbald. In FACT I'd wager I've got more colour going on than other 'women of colour'.
Seriously, what a load of PC wank.
I am now mildly red faced. With indignation- not commonly FELT on Gingerday.


Ginger Fashion rules the world.

Chumly Medbh sent me the link last week and I feel vindicated. That's right naysayers, gingerphobes, flailing nancies! When push came to shove and the dove from above glanced o'er the weeping fashion masses, one pertinent question remained.
What could make fashion MORE fashionable? And lo, there be only one true answer aye!
That's right, GINGER! and not Just any ol' type of ginger neither.
Behold! A carrottopian spender of high art and cutting edge 'mazingness. Ahoy ahoy! Avast! Do you see? Do you see? Oh cherrybomb pufflovesmudgefrecklyyunny. Some day I will surely rule the world, and when I do ONLY gingers will be allowed hold higher offices, semi-naked gingers with jaunty hats and bright low cut underwear. What's that? Think not? Oh you'll see. You'll see... This is ONLY the beginning.


'Cheating' husband was banged up!

Ooooh, Porky Pies all over the gaff. Seems that thus husband of 'shocked drunk driver' and Mother-of-three Fiona Porter (24) who I blogged about earlier this week, didn't catch her mammy in bed with her husband, oh no she didn't! Why? Because according to the Indo,

'Hugo Porter (34), was actually in B-wing of Limerick prison, serving a sentence for motoring offences at the time she said she caught him and her mother in bed, prior to her arrest in the early hours of Sunday morning."

" He was sentenced to six months' imprisonment on June 19, following a high-speed car chase through Cappamore, Co Limerick, in September 2006.

Porter was arrested after he drove at 120km an hour down the main street of the east Limerick village but went on the run subsequently to the North. A bench warrant was issued for his arrest in January 2007."

He'll be out in October.

Oh my. What a spoofer, what an absolute spoofer. I wonder can they drag her drunken driving ass back t court or can people be charged for the same crime twice?
her mammy must be so proud.
I don't know which is worse, finding your mam in bed with your husband or LYING about finding your husband and Mother getting jiggy with it.

Was there an affair? Or did she fabricate the whole shebang? A spokesperson for Mrs Garvey -Fiona's mammy- had this to say...

"There are two sides to every story and what has come out before is not true, it will all come out in time," he said.

Oh, not exactly a resounding denial either. Is it?


Thursday, July 03, 2008

Divorce is Dirty.

When Christie Brinkley's husband, Peter Cook, decided to dance a horizontal mamba with someone other than his wife you can bet your last shiny Euro he wasn't expecting it to end up with him answering questions about his private life in open court.
Yesterday's court transcripts make for cringe making reading, I feel slightly grubby reading about his porn surfing and masturbation for video cameras. I say slightly, because I'm still bloody reading and if I had more gumption I'd gloss over the details and go read something else.
But human nature being what it is, salacious details of others keep a body interested.
A couple of quotes...
' The normally staid Suffolk County courthouse in Central Islip turned into an adults-only peep show when the 49-year-old cad admitted under oath that he habitually ogles online pornography, masturbates in front of strangers via a Web cam, and even had sex inside his office with the comely clerk.

His barely legal mistress-turned-star-witness Diana Bianchi then nervously took the witness stand yesterday and detailed how she gave herself up to him after several advances within weeks of being hired.

She also said Cook leaned on her to help him cover up the affair.

Among the dirty details also laid bare yesterday:

* Cook began flirting with Bianchi when she was only a high-school student and cashier at a toy store. He admitted he hired her with sex on his mind.

* Cook spent $3,000 a month on Web porn, pleasured himself on a Web cam, and trolled for sex partners on swinger sites using handles such as wannaseeall and happyladdie2002.

* He paid his teenage mistress $20,000 in "salary" in addition to gifts of lingerie, jewelry and cash.

* He tried to cover up the affair, and ultimately paid Bianchi $300,000 in hush money.

* Brinkley found pornographic images on Cook's computer - and their preteen son, Jack, accidentally saw them, too.

* Cook tried to bail himself out by revealing he and Brinkley viewed porn together as a "precursor" to sex. "

Okay, this chap is a bit of a douche, well, a lot of a douche, but what on Earth is Christie doing opening this case up to the public? Everyone knows he was caught cheating, no one would blame her for divorcing him, but this is something else, this is humiliation on a epic scale. She claims she is doing this so that her children might understand the 'reasons' for the breakup of her marriage. But surely she could explain what happened in private.
I don't understand her. She and cook have two children together, as much as a douche as I think he is, I don't think she's doing herself any favours either. Surely it would be better to protect her children from the trauma of listening to their parents sex lives being gossiped about, paraded out for public consumption. Surely it's not beneficial to them to hear all these salacious details.

Cook's lawyer has this to say. ' "He did it and it was wrong," Sheresky said of the affair. "And we said so. And there is no way to make this right. Peter has apologized. He's cried his eyes out. He's lost his marriage."

He then pointed out that Brinkley herself has a poor marital track record.

"For goodness sake: She's on her fourth husband," Sheresky told the court. "Your honor, we're here because of the self-indulgent wrath of a woman scorned . . . That's putting her agenda in front of the best interests of the children. What kind of a mother wants her husband flogged in public?"

Her marriages are not under scrutiny, she believed her marriage to Cook to be a good one, so trying to suggest that she is at fault here is bollocks. But I cannot disagree with him with regards to the children.

Brinkley's hurt and rage, Cooks shame and embarrassment notwithstanding, their children are the ones now who will be hurting. It's not about who started this whole seedy affair, but how it is handled and a little grace might go a very long way.


Wednesday, July 02, 2008

Drink Driving Excuses.

Holy crap, I've read some fine excuses why someone might be drink driving but the one I read to day in the Indo takes the biscuit-custard cream thanks for asking.

"A MOTHER of three children narrowly avoided a jail sentence for her second drink-driving offense after she drove away from her home moments after catching her own mother in bed with her husband.

Fiona Porter (24), with an address in Moyross, Limerick, appeared in Limerick District Court yesterday after she was charged with drink-driving in the city last week.

Porter committed the offence after she fled from her home in her husband's car when she caught him in bed with her mother.

Judge Aeneas McCarthy heard that the grandmother and unfaithful husband had been having an affair for two years and the defendant's life was shattered as a result.

Porter was previously disqualified from driving for one year after she committed a similar offense on April 22 last.

She has three children, aged six, five and three months."

"Judge McCarthy noted that she was driving while disqualified and imposed a four-month prison sentence, which he suspended on account of the circumstances. He ordered Ms Porter to be of good behaviour for two years and banned her from driving for six years.

Her licence is also to be endorsed."

Okay, and yack. I'm trying to picture the paramour and the Lilac Couch getting it on and what my reaction might be if I stumbled upon such an act. I doubt I'd drive away, I'd probably go to the bathroom and bleach out my eyes. In fact I might just go smack my head against the wall right now to see if I can shake that image from my imagination.

I wonder what her reason was for the first drink driving offense? Oh God, no I don't, she probably caught her mother doing a sexy nothing but tassels and a thong...a lilac thong...Oh jesus, I've got to stop, it's too early!


Tuesday, July 01, 2008

He Drives She dies?

There's a new ad campaign out at the moment, I'm sure you've heard of it. it He drives She dies.
New research has shown that more than two-thirds of women who died in car crashes from 1997-2006 were passengers in cars driven by men.

This may well be so, but I've got to admit, I'm disturbed with the wording connected with the advert.

'The Road Safety Authority (RSA) yesterday revealed that half of all young women would accept a lift from someone they knew had been drinking.

Noel Brett, chief executive of the RSA, said that eight out of every 10 women felt unsafe as passengers in a car, with speeding cited as the main cause of concern.

"The scary stuff is eight out of 10 young women questioned said they regularly felt frightened travelling with a male driver," he said. "The big issue was speed, and when they did comment on speed the experience they inevitably found was the male driver would speed up.

"It's not reported as cool among the peer group to ask people to slow down. We're trying to empower young women to ask men to drive at an appropriate speed.

"One of the scariest findings was almost half of the respondents said they would travel with someone who has consumed alcohol, and regularly do so, and that's a frightening statistic."

Okay. If eight out fo ten women felt frightened when travelling with a male driver then those women need to NOT get in the car with that driver, they also need to NOT accept lifts with drivers who have been drinking. If a driver 'speeds up' when you ask them to slow down then DON"T travel with that driver again, because clearly he's a dick.

Another quote from the Indo is curiously dweeby, "Yesterday, the RSA and CAWT launched the 'He Drives, She Dies' campaign, which is funded by the European Union to empower females to say no to getting into a car with a man who drives dangerously."

Empower females to not do something stupid. Empowers them. Really?

This whole campaign is bogus, it talk down to men, branding them careless thoughtless idiots and makes women out to be mindless timid sheep. I'm all for less deaths on the raod, but this campaign is not going to do anything other than annoy people.
EVERYONE needs to slow down and pay more attention to their driving, nobody had the monopoly on poor driving. Blaming either gender for road deaths is not the way to solve this.